I am in a boat.
A small boat, adrift in the waves, slowly leaking.
It has been leaking for a long time.
I do what I can to stop it, patch what I can, but I have no materials and only a very small bucket.
The leak is not getting better.
No matter how much I bail out, it still leaks.
It leaks, and it leaks, and it leaks more, and more, and more.
If I give up, it will sink, and I will drown.
But I am so tired.
I have been doing my best for so long.
But the bucket is so very small, and there is only so much I can do with only a bucket and nothing to patch the hole.
Every day, it leaks more.
At night, the sea is calm and it doesnât leak so much, and so I should rest and sleep while I can.
But sleep leads to the day, and day just means more of the same repetitive toil with no end to be seen.
Am I not allowed to take a minute when I can?
To rest, and not have to worry about the ever present water in my small craft?
Either way I get worse.
I know what sleep deprivation does to a person.
But if I do sleep, all that means is the day comes sooner.
And with the day comes more of the same.
Over, and over, and over.
I donât know how long I can continue like this.
Every so often, a larger craft passes by.
I try my best to call for help.
They have the materials I need, if only they would stop to help.
But they never do.
There are other, smaller crafts that do try to help, but they do not have what I need to fix my little boat.
All they can do is call for help.
They can reach those I cannot on my own, but still no one stops.
It is so hard to hold on to hope when all I experience is failure again and again.
Sometimes, rarely, a vessel will stop just out of my reach.
Close enough to have a conversation.
I can see the materials on board, almost within reach, if only they would reach out to me like I am to them.
But at the last moment, they stop.
They leave.
They tell me itâs not my fault, that Iâve done everything I could.
But thereâs someone else they want to help more.
Someone else whose boat fits their materials better.
I just need a single hand.
Just one person to look, and see, and help me.
Just once.
But I am never that lucky.
I can see a wave in the distance, that will perhaps push me towards help when it reaches me.
But it will take months for it to be close enough to do anything.
And even if it does push me in the right direction, there is no guarantee someone will reach a hand out there any more than here.
And so I wait.
I bail out the water.
I sleep little, so as to make the most of what little time I have.
And I am still, slowly, sinking.
I donât know how much longer I have.
I canât see the end.

















